


Symposium: Five Lessons on Arcana

by callmearcturus



Series: all plans are golden in your hands [2]
Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Altered States, Alternate Universe - Magic, Blood Magic, Bondage, Inappropriate Use of Ley Lines, M/M, hedgewitchery for fun and profit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-11
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-10-14 17:44:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20604779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callmearcturus/pseuds/callmearcturus
Summary: companion toall plans are golden in your handsIn which a grumpy witch and reluctant prophet teaches his boyfriend about magic, and a fun time is had by all.Literally just a fun spin-off ofall plansbecause I can't shut up about magic.





	1. Ingredients

He knew he had a visitor before a knock came at the door. A footstep crossed into his domain, a ripple of energy over the stillness of his home. A spill of cool darkness tainted the threshold of the house.

Tainted was a strong word. Carlos licked his lower lip. _ "Tingere, _ maybe." He took two glasses out of the freezer and poured sunshine tea before walking to the door and opening it.

Cecil's hand was lifted to knock. He gasped softly, eyes widening. "Oh! Well, I… meant to surprise you, actually."

"I'm surprised! I didn't know you were coming," Carlos told him, stepping back. "Come in."

There was something behind Cecil's back, and he moved in an awkward shuffle to keep it out of sight. "But you opened the door." He looked towards the kitchen, the glasses already set out and ready. "And… drinks." He sighed. "Prophecy?"

"I really didn't know until you were walking up!" He took his tea and sipped it, the minty coolness a balm against the hot day. "Do you have something for me?"

Cecil tipped his head, eyes narrowing at Carlos. "Hello, Cecil. How was your day? Mine was good."

"Hi, honey. How was your day? You are blatantly shielding something from me, is it friend or foe?" He leaned at the hip to try to see around Cecil and ascertain the threat level.

"It's…" Cecil faltered, and finally brought his arm out from behind his back.

There was a bundle of flowers, enclosed in silver tissue paper and a ribbon. Now that Carlos bothered to pay attention with his more mundane senses, he could smell them, the lush velvety scent of roses. Traditional reds, the yellow ones with the blood-stained tips, stormy pink, and dusty lavender.

Reaching out reverently, Carlos took the bundle, and felt the tingle of potential skitter through his fingers on contact. "Oh my god," he breathed. "They're amazing, look at them! They'll work perfectly!"

Cecil's eyebrows lifted. "They'll… work?"

Carlos froze, remembering himself. Wrapping his arm around the bouquet, he said, "By which I mean… in a vase. They'll work perfectly in a… vase."

"That wasn't remotely convincing."

"I'm going to-- to put them in a container and do what… what normal people do with them!" He cupped the heavy unfurled head of one lavender bulb. Drawing one petal down with his thumb, he marveled at how soft it felt.

Tucking his hands into his pockets, Cecil leaned in and kissed Carlos' temple. As he straightened, he asked, "And that would be? Just for my own edification."

With a slight pout, Carlos considered this. "Well, to my understanding, you put the roses in stagnant water and let them slowly lose vitality and potential until they wilt and go brittle." He tucked the flowers against his nose and looked at Cecil over the petals. "Right?"

There was no hiding the slight roll of his eyes as Cecil stepped around Carlos, taking his glass and sitting at the table. "Can I suppose someone who _ wasn't _ a normal person would elect to use them differently?" He spun the glass between his fingers. "I didn't realize flowers had arcane significance."

Taking the seat across from Cecil, Carlos laid the roses down. Gently untying the ribbon, he unwrapped them, and removed one from the bouquet. Dragging his fingers across the stem, he smiled. "They left the thorns. That's excellent."

Watching him with a fond, exasperated expression, Cecil sipped his drink.

Sighing, Carlos said, "Okay. So. Roses are sort of a special component in magic. They're a common ingredient or price in healing and-- other spells." He cleared his throat, bringing a yellow rose to his face. The petals were so soft, and he ran them over his skin. "But they don't really work unless they are given with genuine affection. Which, there are some suppliers who have a system, like couples who arrange deliveries of flowers? But secondhand affection is tricky to do magic with, because you're not the target for that emotion."

"That sounds like quite the logistical problem."

"Right? I think you're humoring me, but it really is." He waved the rose he was holding at Cecil. "But these are just drenched in power. I've never worked with such potent material, honestly." Carlos smiled down at the bundle. "No one's every given me flowers before."

Cecil smiled, beautiful smile lines framing his mouth, faint crow's feet around his eyes. "Oh, that cannot be true."

Snorting, Carlos said, "No one looks at me and thinks, 'golly, that fellow is the cat's meow,' except…"

"Me," Cecil finished.

"You."

"The world is build by fools," Cecil intoned gravely. "What do you want to do with them?"

"The fools?" Carlos considered. "Nothing, usually. Hexes, sometimes, if they bother me."

"The _ roses, _ Carlos. Though your vengeful streak is adorable and noted."

"You say that, having never been hexed," Carlos said. "I want to make rose water and sugared petals and dethorn all the stems."

Letting out a quiet breath, Cecil nodded. "Okay. Let me do the dethorning. I hate how rough you are on your hands."

"I'm not rough on my hands, what are you talking about." But he stood, and went to his box of tools, retrieving a knife with a white aspen handle. He set it on the table next to Cecil, then retrieved some plastic mixing bowls to collect components. "I'll pull petals."

Cecil picked up the blade carefully. "More fancy knives."

"That's a boline. It's for handling stuff like this. Everyone's a little different, but I use the athame for rituals and blood, and the boline for prep like this."

"How do you keep everything straight in your head? All these tools and rules and associations." As he spoke, he gingerly picked up one of the red roses, dragging the boline against the stem until it hit a thorn. With a little pressure, it slid right through and detached the thorn, letting it fall onto the table.

"That's a funny question. How do you remember the name of every person in town?"

"That's my job," Cecil said, eyes on his hands as he worked.

"And this is mine. Or, job implies payment. It's more accurate to say this is who I am." He waited until Cecil finished with the first rose, then took it and began to dismantle it, starting from the outside and using his nails to remove each petal, one by one.

He popped one in his mouth, considering, and nodded.

"Okay," Cecil said with a huff of laughter. "Palatable?"

"Checking for chemicals. No point putting in the effort if they've been sprayed down with pesticides." He continued plucking petals. "These are good."

"I'm glad I picked out such magically useful roses for my boyfriend."

Carlos grinned at him. "Me too, even though you're being facetious."

All of the component breakdown took time. Pulling each petal out without bruising them or ripping them in half was tedious. When he finished with thorns and those thorns were safely stored in a mason jar, Cecil joined Carlos in his work.

When the bowl started to fill, Carlos tended to the other parts of the process. He started a batch of rose water, then a full tray of sugared petals with simple syrup and caster sugar.

Halfway through the roses, Cecil paused to consult Carlos' record player. "Hm."

Carlos followed him, hands lifted, still sticky from syrup. "What are you putting on?"

"This one, maybe?" He held up a record. "I… might have a trick. Do you want to see?" There was a slightly bashful tone to his voice.

"Absolutely."

"Great. Ah." He flipped album cover over. "Which is your favorite track?"

Leaning against Cecil's arm, Carlos refreshed his memory, reading the list. "Oh, it's cliche, but probably 'Chicago.'"

Nodding, Cecil removed the vinyl, and held it across one hand. With his other hand, he touched the grooves of the surface, starting at the outermost edge, then lightly drawing his finger in loops around the record.

Eventually he stopped, and nodded. Placing the record in the player, he set the arm down where his finger had been, and started it.

One song faded out, and immediately after, the opening strings of "Chicago" filled the room. Smiling, Cecil said, "Ta-dah."

"That is a very neat trick," Carlos told him, and lifted on his toes to kiss Cecil's cheek.

Returning to the table, Carlos set up a second pot of rosewater and another tray of petals, fingers stained with an array of colors. His skin was sticky with sugar and tenderness, emotional energy clinging to him as he turned the roses into magic.

He was finishing a batch of sugared petals and indulgently licking red and yellow and sweetness and devotion from his fingers when Cecil stood behind him. "Hold still," he whispered, and pulled Carlos' hair behind his ear.

He had one of the dusky purple roses in hand, the stem cleared and clipped down. He tucked it behind Carlos' ear, treading the stem into his hair, then gently arranging his curls around it.

"Save this one," Cecil told him quietly.

Instinctively, Carlos reached up to pull his hair out of his face. His knuckles brushed the petals, still so very soft. "Okay," he murmured, giving Cecil a warm look through his eyelashes.

So appeased, Cecil poured more tea and hovered as Carlos finished his work.

"What are you going to do with them," he asked.

"Hm." The petals were not done, and would not be done for hours. But Carlos could spend a little raw energy and urge one sugared petal to dry to completion. He bent, blowing on one, then picked it up. "Want to see?" Turning to Cecil, he said, "Open."

Cecil obeyed easily, always eager to help and to see more magic. It was very sweet and went a long way stroking Carlos' pride. He _ was _ a very good witch, but it was better with an audience, someone to observe and thus make him feel more real.

Cecil often said he didn't cook well without someone to cook for. It was like that, in a sense.

Placing a petal on Cecil's tongue, Carlos pushed up on the tip of his chin, closing his mouth. "Swallow."

There was heat in the look Cecil gave him, and his throat worked as he swallowed the sugar petal.

"It might take a moment, but it's a receptacle of affection and desire. There's lots of ways to use it, letting it augment other spells and rituals and such, but the utili--" He was rudely cut off when Cecil took hold of his face and crashed their mouths together. He was mid-word, lips parted, and Cecil's tongue pressed in, tasting strongly of rose-infused sugar and a hot charge of arcana. "Mmhph, Ceec, no, wait--"

He kissed Cecil back, control not so much taken from him but disappeared entirely. His tongue pressed against Cecil's, looking for lingering taste. Back against the kitchen counter, Carlos contended with the low hot feeling curling in his belly, kindling and fuel tossed on with every second of Cecil kissing him.

God, he was possibly an idiot. _ Hello, amorous partner, let me show you magic by your own gift of ardour handed back to you with arcana added. _ Stupid, stupid.

Cecil put a hand against his chest and pushed Carlos flat to the counter before dropping to his knees. "Cecil, oh, you don't ha-- have to--" His empty reassurances fractured into a low cry as Cecil unbuttoned his jeans and took out his dick, mouthing at it.

He sucked Carlos off hard and fast, until Carlos fisted his hands in Cecil's hair and his toes curled and only Cecil's hands on his hips kept him from buckling and falling.

He came, vision whiting out, scrambling to brace himself on Cecil's shoulders. Everything hummed and pulsed, remnants of magic unraveling from his body.

Lifting a shaking hand, Carlos rubbed his face. "G'd, um."

Sitting back on his heels, Cecil wiped his mouth, looking up at Carlos. "Was… that the intended effect?"

"No. No!" A hysterical giggle tore out of his throat. "It was supposed to be some-- some good feelings, that's all. Not enough for you to jump me."

"Hm." He got to his feet, swaying into Carlos to lean heavily on him. "Well. I already started at that point? Everything was… heightened." He stroked the backs of his fingers down Carlos' arm. "I was suddenly reminded with perfect clarity of you sleeping in too late in my bed."

"Sorry," Carlos said, and kissed his jaw. "I didn't mean to-- I didn't think through using the roses on the person who gave them to me. Novice mistake."

"Next time," Cecil said, touching the rose tucked into his hair. "You swallow one."

"Oh." His face flushed hot. "Yeah, okay. We can do that."


	2. Thaumaturgy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CWs at end

Sometimes, it was a wonder just watching Carlos move. 

Everything with him felt like a dance. Their relationship seemed a slow meandering waltz cycling three beats of intimacy, withdrawal, and outreach, as they swung in close to each other, then away, then back again. 

Nights like this, their hands were clenched tight in a tango of boundaries; Cecil lived for the times when Carlos relinquished a little control and handed himself over to Cecil's care. It was often something simple, a shared look over drinks as Carlos indulged in an extra glass. The unspoken, tacit knowledge that he was placing himself in Cecil's hands was silently cherished, the way he let Cecil lead. 

There was also the way Carlos just _ danced. _

The record player was spinning so quickly, from the point of entering Cecil's apartment to the initiation of music, that he suspected some magic exploit was involved. While Cecil leaned his shoulder against the entryway to the living room, Carlos moved his feet to the beat, shoulders shaking loose of their tension. 

"Nightcap?" Carlos reminded Cecil, practically batting his eyelashes. 

Ostensibly their excuse for coming back here together. As if such a thing were needed. But Cecil felt easy to Carlos' wiles tonight. Or, moreso than usual. 

He poured absinthe and added a sugar cube the shot glass, carrying it out in offering to his tipsy witch. 

There was a _ gleam _ to his eyes even through the fever-brightness of alcohol, like a lighthouse through a veil of fog. He took his glass and smiled at the lurid hue. "Really?" 

"That or aperol spritzer." 

"None for you?" There was a curl of almost menace in his tone, something that stroked Cecil's spine like a cat. 

"I…" Cecil licked his lower lip and shrugged. 

One perfect dark eyebrow lifting, Carlos brought the little glass to his mouth, tipped it back. 

His glass made a bell-tone as he set it hard on the cut-out. Then, he cupped Cecil's head, and pulled him down into a kiss. It was a wet, burning thing, Carlos' tongue pushing into Cecil's mouth demandingly. 

Their lips were an imperfect seal, and green ran in a rivulet as Carlos shared his shot with Cecil, a messy shotgun of liquor. With a shocked noise, Cecil swallowed the mouthful. 

Pulling back, Carlos wiped his mouth with his thumb, smile electric. "Good. Now." Turning on his heel, he pulled his wand from his jacket and waved it. 

Obligingly, the coffee table and sofa slid over to the wall. Into the new space, Carlos stepped, spun on his toe a full rotation, and stepped again. Given the looseness of his limbs, Cecil was extremely impressed with his tipsy balance. 

Cecil leaned on the wall, watching the syrupy fluidity of Carlos' body, swiping his tongue around his mouth to collect the lingering taste of his drink. 

Carlos spun again, one arm up, and something about the way his knee bent brought to mind more professional dancing. He came from a rich family with plenty of strange fascinations; it was _ very _ easy to imagine a young Device practicing. Croisé, arabesque. 

"What are you doing?" Carlos asked, finally stumbling just a little when he stopped moving. 

Tilting his head, Cecil answered, "Watching you. Of course." 

"Is that-- that all you're going to do?" There was a petulance in his tone, his hands on his hips. 

A smile spread over his face. "When you finally get tired, I'll carry you to bed?" he offered sweetly. 

Carlos didn't seem impressed, shaking his head and pacing a sharp three steps away, two steps back. Lifting his chin, he tutted and said, "No, nope, no. You." He held out a hand, palm up, fingers loosely curled. _ "You _ come _ here, _ Mr. Palmer," he said, _ commanded, _ his airy soft voice suddenly rich and humming with something-- something that hummed in Cecil's throat, his mouth, in his chest, the same frequency, transmitter to transponder. 

He moved, away from the wall, and took Carlos' hand, touching Carlos' hip at the same time. Contact felt like a static shock, and Cecil gasped as he swayed into Carlos. 

"Um," Cecil said. 

Carlos, looking up at him, colored. "Oh. Um." He tucked his hair anxiously behind an ear, gaze flicking away, focusing on Cecil's chin instead of his eyes. 

He was surprised, obviously, at the sharp luring sensation that brought him to Carlos. But now that he was here, his own instincts took handily over, and he moved them together, in vague accordance to the music's rhythm. 

"Soooo," Cecil said. "Magic?" 

"Yeah, something like that?" Cheeks flushed, Carlos seemed to have lost the plot, forgetting to dance. Taking over and leading him was easy. 

"I had no idea you could just… compel me." 

"Well, I can't!" he protested immediately. "It's thaumaturgy." 

"Oh, right, of course," Cecil drawled. 

Carlos glared, color high in his cheeks. It was a captivating look for his handsome face. "Thaumaturgy. It's sympathetic magic, I used the drink I shotgunned to you to make a thaumagic-- tomaturgical-- _ thaumaturgical _ link." His nose wrinkled. "That word's hard to say fully sober." 

"What, thaumaturgical?" Carlos narrowed his eyes at Cecil's clear diction, which had been the goal. "So you used this… sympathetic link with the drink to control me? I've never heard of such a thing before." 

Somehow, Carlos colored darker, leaning in to rest his forehead on Cecil's collarbone. His skin was warm with embarrassment. "Well, you're, uh, not supposed to. Usually it doesn't work anyway because, well, a whole bunch of factors. But it's you and you're… pliant for me, sometimes." 

Squeezing Carlos' hand and turning them in a slow circle, Cecil asked, "What else can you do? Can you urge me again?" 

"Oh, no." Shaking his head, Carlos met Cecil's eyes again. "That, I already burned out most of that connection. It was a weak link, I just. It's sort of blunt force magic." 

"So you can't do anything else with it?" When Carlos shook his head, Cecil murmured, "What a shame." 

_ That _ got Carlos to look up at him in blatant surprise and then curiosity. "What? Oh! Hm." His brow furrowed as he considered this. The tip of his tongue peeked out between his teeth in serious thought. "Did you… _ want _ to give me something more substantial?" 

This was their dance. Cecil felt the beats continue to cycle: ebb, stillness, flow. The pattern called on him, and he was ready. 

Carlos stepped back, and they parted with sliding skin and lingering hands. "Mhm. Not sure it's wise to do this kind of magic when I'm like this," he murmured. 

"I trust you," Cecil told him, because he did. 

"Oh, naturally," Carlos said with a touch of sarcasm. "I swear to cause you no harm this night." 

"But tomorrow is fair game?" Cecil cut in with a smirk. 

Letting out an annoyed _ tsk _ , Carlos rolled his eyes. "Never give oaths without qualifications. Anyway, tell me your full name." 

"My… Cecil Gershwin Palmer." 

With a sharp nod, Carlos repeated it back, "Cecil Gershwin Palmer," and it had that double-tone to it again, the latent hum. "Okay. I need a few strands of your hair." 

Bending for him, Cecil only winced a little as Carlos relieved him of three grey strands. He was as gentle as possible, one hand pressing on the skin around the hair, pulling them firmly loose without yanking. 

"Your hair is like…" Carlos walked to the sofa and sat gingerly down. "Like shadow over snow." 

"Is it?" Cecil blushed and went to sit next to his tipsy witch. "I don't see it often." 

"Oh. Right. No mirrors," Carlos mumbled. His focus was narrow on his hands as he worked. He was braiding the strands of hair together, staring at the pale threads over the top of his glasses, holding them close to his face. "It's nice. Like you." 

"Thank you," Cecil said graciously. 

When the braid was finished, Carlos was squinting as he manipulated the thin cord. Keeping it pinched between his fingers with great care, he wrapped it around his finger like a ring, When he pulled the knot taut, he finally took a breath, sitting up. "Ta da." 

"And that'll work?" 

"Should! With your name alongside, yep." Smiling pleasantly, Carlos looked up at Cecil. Then, his smile faded in long increments. "I'm not sure what to… do with this though." 

"Anything you like, I imagine," Cecil offered with a low simmer of hope in his voice. 

"Yeah, but it's not like you're not really willing to go along with stuff already!" He tapped his chin, his entire face pulled into a contemplative moue. "This is really difficult." 

As he fidgeted and moved, somehow the band of silver around his finger glinted in the light, like it were woven metal. It was hard not to stare at it. 

"Okay, I…" Pausing, Carlos took off his jacket, laying it over the arm of the sofa. He moved onto Cecil's lap, and when Cecil tried to touch him, Carlos said, "Cecil Gershwin Palmer, don't touch. Hands down." 

There came a sensation like a paintbrush swirling hot ink along his skin, and his hands lowered to rest on the cushion. 

Carlos watched, and smiled. "Very good. Okay." Leaning in, he kissed Cecil's brow, then sat back, arms draped around Cecil's shoulders. "Now, what should…" He touched Cecil's lower lip with one fingertip. "Cecil. Tell me a secret." 

The silver glinted around Carlos' finger, and Cecil's answer was immediate, spilling like more warm ink from his lips. "I stole your metal talisman ring, and keep forgetting to replace it." 

Carlos blinked and let out a baffled noise. "What? Why did you steal it?" 

Truth tasted good, liquid and buzzing over his palate. "I needed to know your ring size." 

Carlos cocked his head to the side, thinking about that for two seconds before his eyes widened owlishly and his lips parted. "Uh, oh my-- not that kind of secret!" He sucked in a shocked breath. "T-tell me something else, a-- a less secret secret." 

It was the dryness of wine or pomegranate juice over his tongue, making his mouth water. "I want you to move in with me." 

Carlos put his hands over his face. "No, no! N-no more secrets! Uh, nevermind!" He was so flushed, Cecil would've brought him some water, if he weren't sitting with Carlos heavy on his lap. "You must have a head full of this city's mysteries, and this! This is what you--" He went sharply silent, waving his hands through the air. "Right. Anyway." Leaning in, he cupped Cecil's face and kissed him, parting his lips and going for hard and delving without hesitation. 

Cecil tentatively kissed back, and bent when Carlos pushed more, his head falling back against the sofa back with Carlos' tongue in his mouth. After a moment, Carlos eased back to murmur, "Why aren't you… oh, you…" Swallowing, Carlos met Cecil's eyes. "Cecil, put your hands in my hair." 

It was thick around Cecil's fingers as he carded both hands deep into Carlos' hair. 

Exhaling hard, Carlos leaned in to kiss the corner of Cecil's mouth. "Um, more than that. M-make me feel it." 

The hot ink feeling brushed along his tendons, and Cecil's hands fisted tightly. Eyes shutting, Carlos gasped, pulling slightly against Cecil's grip. "Yeah, yes, okay." Moving in sudden, jerky motions, Carlos unbuttoned his shirt and pushed it down. His dark skin was spreading gooseflesh; Cecil's apartment was always a bit cold. "Now, one hand, move one hand to where you like best." 

Cecil's hand spread over Carlos' ass. "Oh," Carlos gasped, shuddering. "Right, let me." He unzipped and unbuttoned, and before he said anything further, Cecil tucked his hand in under the jeans to stroke soft, warm skin. 

Teeth pressing down on his lip, Carlos said, "Harder." 

It was an indistinct order, so Cecil pulled Carlos' head back by his hair, earning a sudden cry and his fingers dug into Carlos' hip and ass. 

Carlos shifted restlessly, drawn taut by the hand in his hair. "Ffffuck, okay. Are-- Cecil. Are you okay?" 

_ "Yes," _ Cecil said intently, because yes, oh yes, he was _ fantastic. _ Hot ink painted along his arms with each command and the adrenaline taste of being in danger brought a nice piquancy to the downy feeling of absolute safety he felt with Carlos holding the reins. All his thoughts felt vaguely underwater, right under the surface, coming to call when Carlos wanted. His will was a silver band around Carlos' finger. 

Which, to put it bluntly, was an _ incendiary _ idea. 

"Let's, put me down across the sofa. Now pull my jeans off. Good, um." Carlos' voice was tenuous at first, every word leaving his mouth like a moth escaping cupped hands. With each one, the clear surprise at Cecil's compliance wore a little but further down, his commands gaining speed and conviction. "Strip. Come back here. Put your hand here, on my shoulder. Push down. Come closer. No, _ closer, _ Cecil. Put your weight-- ah, ye-yeah, yes." 

Nails scraped against Cecil's skin, like Carlos wanted something to hold onto. He seemed to settle for cupping Cecil's neck, pealing gasps and sharp noises as Cecil bore him down heavily and ground into him. 

"Closer," Carlos demanded, and Cecil blanketed him, gripping Carlos' hips, "Tighter, jusssst dig your fingers in, yes, fuck," his skin was so delicate, he was going to bruise, "Hold my-- my wrist so I don't-- yes. God, you're so…" he pushed against Cecil's grip, and shuddered as Cecil held him still, "Move, come on, keep going, Cecil, _ Ce--cil." _

They ground and collided together, working their hips in a rough ground until Carlos shuddered and came. He ordered Cecil to keep going until he shook apart, pulling pleasure out of Carlos' body and falling onto him heavily after. 

He could feel Carlos sucking in deep breaths of air, catching his breath. Loosening his grip, Cecil pulled one of his wrists close and kissed Carlos' knuckles. 

Carlos moaned softly, shutting his eyes for a few long, lazy moments. 

Across the room, the record player stopped spinning, the album finished. 

"Mm," Carlos hummed. "Cecil. Carry me to bed." 

Cecil thought about it, then said, "No." 

Eyes blinking drowsily open, Carlos looked up at Cecil, then at his own hand. "Oh. It broke. Or, more likely it was used up." He rubbed his face with the heel of his hand, a sweet, candid little gesture that made Cecil smile. "Was that… okay? All that?" 

"Nothing we haven't done before. A little, ah, rougher." Cecil raised an eyebrow. "Was this a hint?" 

Carlos smiled back, a little shyly. "Not expressly? But I, yeah, I was sort of winging it. It was your idea, did you…?" 

"Yes," Cecil said, and bent to kiss him, twining their fingers together and squeezing. There was nothing around Carlos' finger now, no supernatural thread binding his will. He wasn't certain when the ring broke, but suspected it didn't matter. He was admittedly _ very _ pliant to his boyfriend's wiles. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW summary: Carlos is tipsy and uses some fast and dirty magic to compel Cecil to dance with him. Cecil asks Carlos to compel him more. They bang on the sofa. Sort of a consensual relaxation of control and agency.
> 
> This is some seriously improper use of thaumaturgy, don't try this at home, folks.
> 
> Next chapter, I think... we've seen what Carlos can do with witchy magic. Time to see what Cecil can do with his own innate brand of magic.
> 
> "Thaumaturgical" really is hard to say. It's that proximity of "t" with "rg" I think.


End file.
